Wednesday morning: Caudebec en Caux is a pretty little town, but I think we are here simply because it is the furthest downstream that cruise ships go. Bussed over some spectacular bridges and through amazing countryside to Honfleur. Many of the houses along the way were thatched – it seems they plant flowers along the ridgepoles of the roofs to keep the top layer of thatch from getting damaged – hunh.

Honfleur really was lovely – tall, narrow houses against a cliff face, a harbour full of boats, art galleries by the dozens, winding cobbled streets. I’m not a big shopper, so instead I went in and out of the smaller art shops and galleries. Ever since a revelatory experience in San Francisco years ago, I’ve found going into an art shop and asking about one or two pieces leads to a bit of a tour/lecture by the shop owner, and you come away knowing far more about art than if you had visited a major gallery or museum.
Back to Caudebec for some time on our own – the church in Caudebec is absolutely stunning. Very old, almost all wood inside, and I easily spent an hour wandering around it. I tend to give most churches a cursory once over – they can be somewhat overwhelming, and the guides drone on and on, so this was the first time in a while that I’d really spent dans une église.

Still no luggage, but I did receive an email from the transport company telling me my ‘colis’ (parcel) would arrive between 1 & 3 tomorrow (I checked; they had exactly the right boat name, exactly the right address, and exactly the right contact info – clean clothes, here you come!!)

I posted that last one just before lunch, having resigned myself to a luggage-less trip.

No. No. I don’t accept that. I am not taking this lying down. British Air owes me a suitcase, dammit. First I emailed the twit at BA Baggage in London who suggested I get in touch with the courier directly and suggested that “as it was British Air that lost my suitcase, I am going to suggest that you get in touch with the courier directly”. I translated a set of instructions with address, phone number, and a pointed yet polite message setting my expectations, and told the guy from London to send that when he gets in touch the courier to use my message.

Then I phoned BA Paris and informed the clerk that his options A or B (see previous post) were unacceptable, and I expected to receive my suitcase by noon on Thursday, when we would be in Rouen (all day, right in the centre of town, easy to find, not moving for hours, no excuses about ‘missing the boat’). D’accord.

An hour later I received my first official-looking email from British Air: a form with locator codes, baggage codes, the correct Rouen address, dates, and times. Pushing back worked – I think we’re getting somewhere. Hah! (that ‘hah’ is of course the triumph of hope over experience)

I have a much better feeling about the courier’s ability to find the boat today – we’re right in middle of town, easy to spot. My luggage should arrive soon. Ummm, not so fast, toots.
I was here about 7 or 8 years ago, but due to one thing or another, the only places I visited were pharmacies. We passed both of those pharmacies on our walking tour – nice to see they’re still doing well.

Our tour was fascinating. Like many European towns, the conversation started about destruction during the war and the subsequent re-construction, all very interesting and eye-opening. But then we turned a corner, and we went back 600 years.
Cobbled streets, open marketplace, true half-timbered houses and shops, a massive stone cathedral, a tiny wooden church. Absolutely wonderful. We’re back here on Thursday and I can’t wait to re-visit the places the guide showed us and really soak the town in. Everyone promised me Rouen was beautiful and it hasn’t disappointed.

I have been receiving texts and emails from British Air telling me to contact the Parisian Courier company directly. Then when I got back from the tour I got a call from BA Baggage in Paris, telling me Rouen was too far, and I had two options: pick up my bag at Charles De Gaulle on my way home, or have it shipped to my house in Scotland. Ever the one for an easy life, I picked option A and will get it on the way out of town. So, I’m stuck with just what I’m in now (I could go shopping but I hate shopping and that’s not what I came to France for).
Ah well.

Monday: We have sailed to La Roche Guyon, only 30 minutes downriver from Paris. No reason they can’t have my bag to me by time of sailing at noon. Well, so I thought.

On the upside, what a lovely village. I have seen many many castles, chateaux, and churches on my cruises (dubbed ‘ABC cruises’ by an Aussie friend – another bloody church, another bloody castle etc…). But this place was stunning, and very different – as well as its long significance in France’s history, it was Rommel’s headquarters in the latter part of the war.
Then on to Vernon and Giverny. Again, not far from Paris, and plenty of time for the courier to find us (one would think).

It turns out there are three other women whose luggage hasn’t shown up. Like me, they are being tantalized with promises of next stop, next stop. They are with Air France, and as Uniworld booked their flights, the boat is following up. But the boat doesn’t seem to be getting any better results than I am, so . . .
The courier did phone me today and even though he clearly understood my French, he said an anglophone would call me back in 30 minutes. J’attends encore.
Vernon is a perfectly nice river town, with pretty little streets, half-timbered buildings, and of course, a church. I’ve decided I can go no longer in the same clothes I have been wearing since Saturday morning at 6am, so I’m going shopping.
It’s Monday. That may seem like a non sequitur to you, but for anyone who has ever spent time in a small European village, you will know that there is always a weekday where shops don’t open. Here, it is Monday. Splendid. Turns out there are two clothing shops and a Monoprix (supermarket) that are open, so I loaded up on socks, undies, and some outerwear. Of course, one of the shops only took cash, so I did have to go back to the boat for a debit card (it’s always something).

Every return to the boat is done with a sense of anticipation – every return is met with disappointment.
This evening was The Captain’s Welcome Gala – I rather self-consciously showed up in my ‘chic’ cheap new jeans, plain top, and my same old, same old hiking boots. But no matter what I had worn, I would have paled in comparison to the one socialite all in spangles and stilettos.
Tomorrow is Rouen – a big town near a highway – luggage will arrive tomorrow.

Sunday evening: the boat is lovely: the S.S. Joie de Vivre. We’re a couple of miles north of the Eiffel Tower. I had planned on spending the afternoon walking around the city, but now I’m just waiting on a fresh set of clothes.
Still nothing by 5:30. I’m sitting by a window, staring at every car or van that pulls into the parking lot by the quay, and drinking champagne (so maybe not a total wreck of a day).
6:15 and the captain has just finished his speech and has gone above to take off – the courier has 15 minutes. (if, as British Air advises, the bag arrived at Charles de Gaulle by 3pm, how is possible that it’s not here?)
6:32 – we’re sailing. No suitcase. I have just texted our next 2 stops to BA. Here’s hoping.

Oh, and my stateroom had 2 toothbrushes. I am now the proud owner of at least a half a dozen toothbrushes.

Sunday Morning: Remember when hotels supplied proper toiletries? You know, like toothrush, comb, toothpaste; the things one really needs if they’ve forgotten something? Nowadays it’s 2 Q-tips and a shower cap. Guess what I forgot to buy at the airport after losing my suitcase: yep, a toothbrush. Heavy sigh.

Checked out at 4am, walked to airport to be in plenty of time for whatever sea of confusion and delays awaited. Turns out, even tho my ticket said be there 3 hours in advance, the airport doesn’t open until 5am. Splendid. On the plus side, having absolutely no luggage whatsoever means I can bypass all desks & kiosks, and just stand in front of the security gates. (I’m grasping at ‘on the plus side’ straws I know. Throw me a bone here)
Made it through security a breeze. Now to do some shopping. First stop: charging cables for cell phone and tablet (by the time I move back to Canada, I will be able to knit some sort of electronic blanket with the miles of charging cables I now own). Then make-up (I know, I know: vanity, thy name is Lainey). That was a lot more work (and money) than I had anticipated, but what’s a girl to do? Being so focussed on my appearance, it wasn’t until I had long left the main shopping area and was at my gate that I realized I had not bought actual necessities of life: a toothbrush, deodorant, and a hairbrush. Crap. Popped into a mini-Boots. (You know how my earlier posts about Kirkwall were heavily themed around waste management? Well this cruise seems to be quite toothbrush-focussed.) Of the miniscule selection of toothbrushes in this shop, all those with firm bristles were cheap, and the soft bristled were £7! I refuse to pay £7 – I’ll just brush lightly. Don’t tell my dentist.

Arrived v quickly in Paris and again, with no luggage, zipped through the airport. An aside: got my first stamp in my UK passport – v exciting. I was met by the lovely rep from Uniworld at the same time as I received an encouraging call from Jas at British Air in London – they have my suitcase. Given that it’s only 10am and flights from London are 40 minutes, they feel confident they can deliver it to the boat by the time we leave the dock at 6pm. I’m just happy they have it – I really thought I would never see it again.

More to come (as a teaser: had my first encounter with a fellow passenger – let’s just say she and her husband sound delightful).

Saturday: Scout is moping; she knows I’m leaving (she knows a suitcase on the floor rarely bodes well for her). Up at 6:30, at the airport at 9am (I love living in a small town: the airport is 8 minutes away, there is plenty of parking, and I even ran into someone I know in the lounge, how local am I?) At Check In came the first setback: even tho my suitcase is within the carry-on dimensions, it is too heavy for ‘valet luggage’ – you know – that thing where you don’t check it, but at the gate they take it and put it on a trolley, then into storage and you get it back on the jetway as you exit the plane). In a situation like that, how is weight a factor? They all go in the belly of the plane. Hmm.

Great flight, beautiful views, arrived early. My next flight from Glasgow to London took off on time, made it to London again early. But, and here’s where things start to go sideways, no bags. There were 4 of us, all from the same flight, who didn’t get our luggage. We waited about 20 minutes after all the other passengers had left, then proceeded to fill in all the forms. This is where I made a classic mistake: after completing the forms with all my contact info, etc, I handed the forrm to the clerk without taking a picture of it – no record of the lost luggage claim. Damn.

I had booked a hotel in the airport, so it was only a 5-minute walk. Got to the reception desk – no reservation. Sigh. Not my day. Now to some extent, this one was on me: I had screwed around with the reservations on Thursday, cancelling, booking, re-booking, etc… But I did have Expedia’s confirmation so after much hemming & hawing, Mr. Cranky-Pants behind the desk did give me my room. Still no luggage, but at least a place to sleep (priorities, Elaine).

I set the alarm for 3:45 am, because my online boarding pass said to be there 3 hours in advance and the news this week has been all about the staffing issues with British Air and Heathrow, and the horrific wait times. In fact, the clerk in the Brit Air luggage department, upon hearing of my flight time the next morning did say, “good luck with that”.

At least I slept well.

I was going to wait until I got home to share my adventures on the Seine, but OMG, so much has happened and the boat hasn’t even left the dock – a tale worthy of serialization.

Let’s go back to Pre-Thursday:
I booked a river cruise with Uniworld: the Seine – Paris to Normandy & back. It’s an 8-day cruise – I have done a similar cruise, but with another company, and that was with my mother, whose dementia was becoming more pronounced, and my father, who was tired from caring for Mum. So I spent most of that cruise caring for them, and not really seeing the towns and villages.

Uniworld also book my flight from Heathrow; I was in charge of getting myself to LHR. I booked my flights to and from Scotland. The timing meant I had to spend a night at a Heathrow hotel, which I booked on Expedia. I did all the booking, arranged for a dog sitter, and started planning, list-making etc…. Now, to the events thus far:

Thursday: I sat down to check in online – OH NO – I had booked my hotel in London for Saturday night, not Friday! I would have arrived Friday night with no room at the inn. After a couple of phone calls to the hotel & Expedia, I had cancelled the Saturday room and re-booked for Friday night (they waived the fee, but there was a hefty hike in room rates). Then I went on to British Air’s website to check-in there – OH NO – I had made the same mistake with the flights from Kirkwall and Glasgow! Seriously, what was wrong with me. I started imagining myself arriving in Paris one day late and being taxied to the first stop.

Fortunately, something made me go and check the Uniworld cruise itinerary.
Ah. It left on the Sunday, not Saturday – turns out all my original reservations had been correct. A good news/stupid news sort of a situation. Back online, changed the hotel room back to the correct dates (slight improvement in room rates at Heathrow). Not my finest moment.

Friday: a whole day of time handed back to me – it let me really attack minimalist packing, which I did with a vengance – one rolling carry-on and a large purse.

So, now the stage is set for Lainey’s Lovely Holiday.

So it seems it’s not ‘spag bol’; it’s ‘a spag bol’, as in, “I made a spag bol for dinner last night.” Just as they don’t order in Chinese or Indian food, they order ‘a Chinese’ or get ‘a curry’ (the ‘meal’ is silent I guess).

And I saw my neighbours on pizza night – they had 6 pizzas: one each. I mentioned this to someone local who said, “Well what else would you do; what if they all want something different?” and I explained that in that case, in Canada we would order 2 large pizzas, one with only vegetables, and one that was half Hawaiian, half pepperoni, and that way everyone got something they sort of wanted, and no one was completely happy.

I told my cousin that I was surprised by British tuna sandwiches – the tuna is always made with sweetcorn (or ‘corn’ as we would say). She & her daughter thought celery in a tuna salad was bizarre.

Random thoughts: it must be term break – either that or we’ve gone back into lockdown and no one told me. I don’t really think of living next door to three schools and a student residence as intrusive – I just notice them as background noise if anything. But the absence of the kids makes our walks very very quiet – a weird feeling. My first week here coincided with the fall term break, it got dark early, I didn’t have internet, the house was new to me – I admit now that I was a little freaked out my first week here by the general silence and darkness. There is a fitness centre on the 2nd floor of the high school and I can see it from my windows – it made me feel better to see the lights on and people working out (yes, like they would see and hear me being attacked by a knife-wielding madman from all the way across a field, and then make it over here in time to stop the carnage – that’s NOT the point). But now, the days are longer and I feel at home, so it’s more Scout who misses their presence; the kids do like her.

House Inspection: I have been notified by the property managers that they are coming later this week for a property inspection. I immediately started cleaning !?! Honestly, what do I think this is going to be? White gloves and litmus papers? I realised I was a tad OTT when Scout got up for the third time and left the room I was working in.

Spag Bol: I have an Aussie friend who abbreviates a lot of words. She likes a cuppa, often with a biccy. My favourite – and it did take LL & me a while to figure this one out – is when they talk about Macca’s. It wasn’t until she mentioned a cheeseburger that we realized she was talking about McDonald’s! It seems this is a very Aussie thing to do. Brits do the same thing, often regarding food: mash for mashed potatoes, sarni for sandwich, bevvy for beverage. Tonight I am making a British classic: spag bol. Not spaghetti bolognese, that takes too long to say and sounds pretentious. I’m making spag bol.